Now That You've Trained Your Dragon
by Simtiff
Summary: When Hiccup unwittingly brings chaotic unrest to the Barbaric Archipelago upon the discovery of the Outcast tribe's missing leader, it's up to him and a ragtag group of misfits to prevent their friends' murders and stop the Outcasts' devastation in time.
1. The Problem With Seasickness

**Dear reader,**

**Hola! Thanks for choosing this fanfic to read in your spare time. I consider it a high honor to know someone—anyone—out there is reading and enjoying my fanfiction.**

**Let me just say right now, that Dreamworks' How to Train Your Dragon is quite possibly my favorite movie of all time. As a few weeks passed, I kept thinking late at night if I should start writing fanfiction of my own, as I was inspired by others to do so. But one thing was holding me back, I am very shy about people seeing things I write or draw. So, I had a talk right before bed with my father and my sister that if I ever was dissatisfied with the ending or sequel of a movie or video game, I could always write things the way I—or other people—would like it. Sooner or later, I started typing and voila! So, this story is an original concept after hearing about the sequel to HTTYD coming in 2013. According to an e-mail sent by some DeviantArtist to Chris Sanders—Director of HTTYD, it would incorporate some elements from the second book in the series by the wonderful Ms. Cressida Cowell—How to Be a Pirate. At first I thought that that would be a corny idea and the thought of Hiccup being all "swashbuckle-y"—including the peg leg and optional eyepatch—would be weird and would alienate the audience with the cheesy "yo-ho" kind of pirates. You know, the kind that are drained of their historical bad-arse...ness(?) and notoriety for killing people, stealing from entire villages, etc. and are replaced with the kind that carry around a parrot and just say "Aarg!" all. The freakin'. TIME.**

**Whew! now that we have recovered from the run-ons, I think it would be a good idea to finally start this fanfic. So, let's get this train-wreck a rollin'!**

**Love and kisses,**  
><strong>Simtiff<strong>

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><p>This is Berk.<p>

It's three weeks East of Frostbite, a couple miles away from Below-Zero, and just a stone-throw away from Desperate for Warmth.

In a nutshell, it's a pretty decent place, and it has been here for several generations. If you're fond of burly, bearded men with battle axes greeting you with an almost-blow-to-the-head, then this is your place. The best part of the island has to be the pets. While some places have cats or canines, Berk has dragons.

Some big, some small, some that could set themselves on fire...

But one of the most famous kind of dragon is the elusive Night Fury. Undoubtedly the fastest breed of dragon; the Night Fury is completely invisible against the night sky, can eat twice its weight in fish, and never misses when shooting a fireball. It is incredibly rare, and the only known owner of a Night Fury is—

"Oi, Hiccup! Git yer lazy hide outta bed!"

No, not him.

Wait a second.

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III regretfully shot his eyes open.

_There_ he is.

_Training today_, he thought to himself, _almost forgot_.

Hiccup thrust himself forward till he was upright and let out a long, drawn-out yawn. Looking nowhere in particular, he leapt out of bed, landing on the floor.

_Oh, right._

"Toothless," he breathed.

The dragon opened one green eye from his spot on the bed that pierced through the early morning darkness.

"Hey, bud. Can you get me the leg?"

As if second nature, Toothless bounded around the wooden home, retrieving the device as if it were a stick in a game of fetch. Receiving the prosthetic, Hiccup buckled the leather straps around his left leg—well, more of a stump, now. His reptilian best friend softly nudged Hiccup to his feet—make that foot.

"Oh, great! I forgot to pack!" Hiccup said as he ran a stressed hand through his bed-head, remembering how he fell asleep as soon as he hit the pillow last night from the evening's rigorous flying.

Hiccup quickly lugged a wicker basket onto his bed, frantically stuffing it to the brim with extra clothing, a sack of flint, food rations, and Toothless's riding gear.

"Hurry it up, boy, we're wastin' time!" hollered Gobber the Belch from outside his door as Hiccup fastened the basket straps to his back.

He opened the door and limped outside. Toothless trailed beside him.

It was pitch black. Not even a glint of sunrise. Freezing cold, too.

"Ahh, the Viking way," Hiccup said sardonically under his breath.

He was shortly joined by the massive, dark silhouette of what could only be Fishlegs, who was the closest Hiccup probably came to having a human best friend before the dragons were accepted. He was joined by his Gronckle, Horrorcow, which was the only dragon Fishlegs did not go into anaphylactic shock from—peculiarly, he was allergic to carnivorous dragons.

"Hey, Hiccup. Great day to go risk your life to learn to be a Viking, huh? Woo!" Fishlegs mumbled, twirling a sarcastic finger in the air.

"Well, it couldn't be that bad. I mean, what's Gobber gonna do? Let us run around, killing each other off?" Hiccup joked.

"Statistically speaking, I'm leaning toward an 'yes'," Fishlegs responded.

Oh, wait. He _would_.

Not much later, they were joined by Tuffnut; a hunchbacked, lazy, mischievous adrenaline junkie who already had a tattoo at the age of fifteen and loved nothing more than making his fraternal twin sister's life Hel.

"Heeeeeey, guys! How's this? Amiright? A whole month of sittin' on a ship, getting fat, 'n fighting? I think I died and went to Valhalla!"

Tuffnut pretended to swoon and swayed backward, but his dramatic efforts were thwarted when something _clonk_-ed him on the head, pushing him toward the dirt.

"Hey, stupidhead! You're supposed to wake me up!" Another bang on the head by the hands of his sister, Ruffnut, causing the two boys cringing in awe with every blow. The younger of the twins was just as lazy as the other, but when she fought, she _fought_.

"I-I'm sorry, wha' wassat? I was too busy drownin' out the _annoying sound of your voice_!" Tuffnut gutsily replied.

Ruffnut pushed her sleeves back and winded her arm back to throw a tremendous punch, but was interrupted by the low, trembling rumble of a horn.

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><p>Fourteen men. There were fourteen men at the table. Some were fairly fit, some bulging with fat, some were pure muscle, and then there were the veritable talking fishbones. They all seemed to be occupied with one thing—that figure. One of the younger men was cajoling a barmaid to lower the price on a mug of the finest ale, though it wasn't for him. The one with the pumpkin-shaped birthmark on his right temple was locked fist-in-fist with the figure, one that would not lower the fur-lined hood of its cloak. The twelfth of the group was down on one knobby knee, holding out an engagement ring to the hooded figure and giving a long monologue of his unrequited love.<p>

Amid the swarm of suitors and adversaries alike, the stranger sat placidly—back perfectly straight—focusing only on the resonating thud of a huge, hairy arm slamming against the table. The pub erupted in raucous cheers at the sound victory of the figure, the seventy-fifth one this week, causing mead to slosh around in mugs and a leg of mutton to roll off its wooden plate.

The roar died down into its usual frenzied series of yelps as the figure demanded more fighting and another pint of ale. The next person to sit down, however, made the cloak freeze. The drunken revelry and mania dissipated without warning into a cautious whisper as the man sat before the hood, gazing intently with a brazen sneer upon his lips.

"'Ello there," the man greeted with a deceptive grin, yellow teeth gritted. The tension was palpable.

A rushed sigh of defiance fluttered from the cloak.

"What do you want this time, Irongut?" groaned the hood, its voice distinctly female.

"Ey! No love fer good 'ol Pinion? We're really uptight now, aren't we, Luvvy?"

To put it lightly, listening to the man's accent-heavy voice was like being put through a cheese grater, the hood's wondered if this rat of a man would shut his stinking mouth already.

A great "hmph" of disgust was audible in the near-silence of the pub. Pinion licked his dry lips, accepting this implied challenge.

"Issa'bout You-Know-Who. He's lookin' fer yeh. Wants tah make a—eh—barter, so tah speak."

The invisible pair of eyes glared at Pinion. He stared back with his own beady, glittering pair.

"...How much is the reward?" the woman had asked, taking a swig of the ale that was offered by the bartering suitor who was now fearing for his life.

"'Bout 300 coins apiece fer ev'ry limb you manage to bring back—quite a pretty penny, in my opinion!" he chuckled darkly and took a gulp of some more unattended mead. His head tilted down, recoiling from the strong flavor. Regaining his bearings, he continued, his calloused hands adding little flourishes here and there.

"An' he says tha' the best part is tha' he'll reward yeh with yer own vessel."

"This entire conversation is getting more and more cliche by the second, huh?"

Think 'bout it, the _S.S. Dragonslayer_! It'd suit'cha if yer lookin' fer a more—how should I say this—_intrestin'_ life. Unless, y'know, yeh like being chased aroun' by pretty boys fer the rest of yer life. I mean, who wouldn't want tha'?" he shrugged.

She spat in Pinion's face. It's not like the woman regretted it, anyway. He wiped the saliva from his eye, laughed lightly, and continued like nothing had happened.

"Yeh can try all yeh want tah curry favor with 'im. Nothing works, I tried. Does it really matter tha' much tah yeh? Issit even _worth_ all the trouble?"

"_Would you stop asking me all these questions_?" the woman snapped, "Like it matters to you, anyway. Why don't you run along and go play pirate with some other little lady who's _sensitive_ and doesn't like to _kill on impulse_?" at these words the hood drew a knife from its belt and pointed it at mottled skin.

"He wants tah see yeh, Sigs. Think 'bout it. Oh, an', yeh look better without the hood, yeh 'ave a nice face," he winked as his "friend" lowered her weapon of choice.

Pinion left without another word. Sigs sighed, recalling how much she hated having the last word in a conversation. For a second she actually hesitated when she got up from the table, her head slightly spinning. She cursed under her breath—something about the effects of mead—and started on her long journey home.

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><p><strong>EDIT: Alrighty, I fixed the layout!<strong>

**...And that concludes chapter one! The suspense must be killing you guys.**

**Pfft.**

**Leave a review and thanks for reading!**

**~Simmy**


	2. Swords, Safety Precautions, and You

The horns stopped their cacophonous blaring as a throng of Viking children started to gather around the docks. Some were probably not much older than seven-years-old.

"Attention, Vikings!" bellowed Gobber over the din.

"Due to the introduction of dragons to the island, there 'ave been a few changes to the—uh—curriculum..." said Gobber as he flipped through a few pages on his clipboard. The young Vikings stood confused while Hiccup's eyes darted around to see a few ships bobbing in the nighttime waters of the harbor. His spirits plunged fifty feet into the center of the earth realizing what boats plus "curriculum changes" amounted to:

Seasickness.

Yes, although he didn't want to admit it, Hiccup was prone to it. Ever since he was little (well, littler), he'd step onto a tiny little rowboat and automatically feel his breath get shallow and his stomach heave; needless to say, it wasn't pleasant. Toothless seemed to sense his discomfort and nudged his snout into Hiccup's side.

"Ah, 'ere we go. Anyway, dragons will not be ridin' on team boats, but on their own. We don' want any of yeh cheatin', now would we? Anyone caught with a dragon will be shipped off back to Berk, yeh 'ear me?" Gobber admonished.

"Thanks bud, I'll be okay from here."

Toothless gave a disagreeing huff and nudged the boy yet again as he hobbled down the docks; Toothless was led away once Hiccup arrived at his destination.

"Hiccup, yeh don' look so good. Are yeh sure you won' toss yer guts over the side of the boat?" Gobber asked with a small pinch of a joking demeanor.

"Ohhhh, yeah, I should be pretty okay. Don't worry," Hiccup said with an air of cheerfulness (that actually masked his nausea quite well) as he was assigned to a little boat that seemed dwarfed by its two companions on either side.

"Heh-heh! _That's_ the spirit, now! The open air, the wild sea! We'll see it all! Plus, it's a good way to impress the _ladies_," he said with a wink, with Hiccup rolling his eyes. He proceeded to slap Hiccup on the back, nearly upping last night's dinner he desperately tried to keep down. With a small squeak of desperation, Hiccup clenched his fists and managed a smile as he tentatively edged his way into the boat.

In the early morning gloom, he could make out a few figures: Speedifist marveling at a new sword Snotlout had bought, Sharpknife talking excitedly with Tuffnut, Clueless (who really did absolutely nothing but let his eyes wander), Fishlegs, Wartihog, Ruffnut, and Astrid. Hiccup instantly felt some of the pangs of nausea be replaced with flutters of warmth as he could make out the distinct outline of Astrid, bundled up tightly in fur coats, the butt of her axe firmly rooted on the deck. He saw the open seat behind her and slipped in between the two benches.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Hey, yourself," she whispered back.

How was he supposed to respond to _that_?

"Well, um, how are you?"

_That was stupid!_

She opened her mouth to speak, but the boat jolted as it was cut free from the docks and Gobber began to announce news and whatnot for what seemed like the umpteenth time that morning.

"Good mornin' Viking Troupe Number Eight!"

"Good morning, Sir," chorused the group.

"Well, given tha' I am yer caretaker for this year's Viking Training, I think it'd be nice to tell yeh what we're actually _doing _righ' now as we speak. Would any of yeh like to guess as to what we're doin'?"

Wartihog eased his hand up into the air.

"Since dragons are friends now, we're learning the other basics of Vikingry?"

"That's it! Now, since Vikings are the best shipbuilders in the known world, it's necessary tha' we learn to _operate _this darn thing!" he said with a laugh, smacking a hand on the edge of the boat lovingly, "so, today yeh are learnin' how."

Everyone was pretty okay with that.

"But, I believe in learnin' on the job, and _I_ think it'd be better if yeh skipped the technical things and got down to how yeh are gonna defend yerself if yer raided. Any volunteers for Swordfightin' 101?"

What.

"I don't expect yeh to jus' sit there like an ickle pretty jellyfish, now!"

No one raised their hands. They all knew that if they were going to swordfight, they would be matched unfairly. It was a simple fact of Viking society.

"Hiccup?" Gobber called upon.

"Wait! Whoa-whoa-whoa, hold up a sec—"

"Hiccup, I know yeh can do somethin' like this. Just _try_."

With a pause and a sigh, he regrettably agreed to fight. It was really unfortunate that he, of all people, was looked up to these days. Even more unfortunate, the cold rain started to fling itself from the sky and crash-land onto the deck, stinging Hiccup's skin. He grabbed a sword from a makeshift weapon rack and held it in his right hand, the grip felt strangely awkward. He felt like jumping into the water as soon as he was matched up against Snotlout and his new, _pointy _sword.

_Oh Gods, this is going to be brutal._

"Now I want ye two to play fair…as best as ye can! Heh-heh," Gobber laughed, enjoying all the little things that came with fighting, "keep yer swords in their sheaths at all times and take three paces back with yer back turned...Alrigh'? Fight!"

Snotlout lunged with a daring swipe near Hiccup's face, while Hiccup barely dodged the attempted blow by about three inches. Hiccup, in retaliation, swept to the side—very wobbly considering his leg and the slippery deck—and locked their swords with a sharp _clang_. Unsuspecting of this, Snotlout was knocked off balance and fell on his back. Snotlout's sword skittered across the deck and Hiccup tried to advance quickly and catch him off guard, but his cousin had reclaimed his weapon and was making a mad dash toward him, obviously enveloped in the thrill of battle. Unluckily for Hiccup, Snotlout's sheath had mysteriously disappeared. Hiccup panicked and started bounding in the opposite direction. At this point, the rain had made a grand crescendo into a downpour, with freezing cold water droplets pounding into the deck without letting up the slightest bit.

"His sheath fell off!" Hiccup yelped as he tried to parry one of Snotlout's moves, it missing him narrowly.

"What's tha'?" Gobber hollered, trying to block out the sound of torrential rain pitting against the vessel.

"HIS SHEATH FELL OFF!" Ruffnut screeched, using her best I'm-screaming-at-Tuffnut-for-no-reason voice.

Gobber must have gotten the message, because in a blink of an eye, the fight was concluded with Snotlout being scolded strongly and Hiccup on the brink of fainting and getting sick and all the worst things he could probably think of. All of the sudden, the grating rain seemed to push him back along with the boat rocking along the choppy waves. Next thing he knew, the weakened form of a scrawny Viking plummeted overboard and was drifting in nerve-numbingly freezing water.

"HICCUP!" Astrid screamed from the edge of the ship.

The Vikings looked down frantically in the water for signs of him, and found him drifting away on a piece of wood, slightly unconscious.

"Quick! Haul 'im in!" Gobber ordered and a couple teens got a rope and lassoed him up, wood and all. He was eventually lifted onto the slippery boat once again, sputtering and coughing up seawater, the sting of brine already taking over his sinuses.

"This boy nearly died!" Gobber pointed out, "_What_ in Thor's name do yeh think ye were _doin'_?" Gobber questioned Snotlout, sounding a mix between aghast and exasperated.

"I dunno, sir! It was just gone!" said Snotlout, desperately pleading his case. He _did_ like brutality, but Gobber knew he'd never try to kill someone or at least make it so that killing was a possibility.

Gobber looked around thoughtfully. Tuffnut may have been mischievous, but wouldn't deliberately try to hurt someone. Ruffnut was the one who said the sheath was missing, but she was just as bad as Tuffnut was at scheming. Astrid would never pull a stunt like that. Clueless was…clueless. Sharpknife, Speedifist, Wartihog—no.

Little did Gobber know that Dogsbreath was blending in the crowd, tucking the sheath safely in his supplies basket.

"Alrigh' then. Yeh all are on limpets for the week," announced Gobber. The teens groaned in response.

Explaining what limpets taste like is impossible; but to describe it the closest, they taste a bit like worms, a bit like snot, and a _lot_ less tasty than either.

"Erm, guys? W-what's _this_?" Hiccup asked, still visibly shaken from his "lovely" encounter with the angry ocean.

The piece of wood was still beneath Hiccup. Except it _wasn't_ a piece of wood.

It was a coffin.

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><p><strong>Now, in case you couldn't tell, I've put a smidgeon of book canon for a little variety (though it's <em>definitely<em> not a new idea). Additionally, I double-checked for conventional errors. I'm self-awarded with the 'Most Likely to Make a Stupid Mistake in Spellcheck' award. Mm-hmm.**

**Don't forget to leave a review and watch for chapter three! Love you guys!**

**~Simmy**


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